


Trust Me

by spockandawe



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Candles, Consent Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gags, Handcuffs, M/M, Pain, Temperature Play, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 03:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13895475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: When the Grandmaster suggests candles and wax, your instinctive response is to relax.A dangerous— Ariskyresponse, you know that well enough. You’ve had more than enough time to become acquainted with the habits of a hedonistic, immortal despot on a constant search for new entertainment. And you’re just lucky enough to be the latest novelty on his planet. You know what you’re doing, and the longer you can hold his attention and keep him happy, the more influence and power you’ll gain. But this wouldn’t be the first time he’s taken a seemingly innocuous idea to…startlingplaces.





	Trust Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/gifts).



When the Grandmaster suggests candles and wax, your instinctive response is to relax.

A dangerous— A _risky_ response, you know that well enough. You’ve had more than enough time to become acquainted with the habits of a hedonistic, immortal despot on a constant search for new entertainment. And you’re just lucky enough to be the latest novelty on his planet. You know what you’re doing, and the longer you can hold his attention and keep him happy, the more influence and power you’ll gain. But this wouldn’t be the first time he’s taken a seemingly innocuous idea to… _startling_ places.

When he comes to your chambers—two quick knocks, and then he breezes through the door without waiting for an answer—he says, “Loki, Lo-Lo, _darling,_ pretty thing, how do you feel about, about, you know, candles? Wax, candles, heat, all that business?”

And it’s too easy to smile and agree without thinking, without worrying about having to _maneuver,_ to let him kiss you and relax into it, feeling faintly smug and confident that you’ll be able to manage this evening without any difficulties.

He makes his excuses—very important meeting, must go, promise to be at his quarters in an hour— and blows out of your rooms as quickly as he came. And then sweeps right back in to make you promise to shave, well. Everything.

Once he’s gone, then there’s time for second thoughts. Not many, and not that it matters. You’ve never done anything much with wax yourself, but the theory is simple. You may not know all the particulars, but it should be in line with activities you already enjoy well enough. Besides, there’s not much use in worrying now, though you can’t help some idle speculation as you get ready for the visit.

At least you’re no longer at the point where you have to wait on him to send a guard to fetch you from your rooms. You make your way to his chambers yourself, with carefully impeccable timing so that you can wave off the guards at his doors and sail on into his rooms by yourself.

The Grandmaster in his bedchamber, of course, his back to the door, arranging what frankly seems like an excessive number of candles. He waves one hand at you without looking your way. “Hey, come on in, make yourself at home.” He glances back over his shoulder. “Actually, you can— Why don’t you go ahead and get a little more naked? Get cozy? I’m almost done, won’t be a minute.”

You don’t dawdle, but you don’t rush either. You take the time to fold your clothes nicely on a chair before you finally go to the bed and lay down on your side, propped up on one elbow, but even then, the Grandmaster still isn’t finished with whatever he’s doing.

Or he was waiting for you, because he almost immediately turns your way and looks you up and down with a self-satisfied smile. _“Well,”_ he says. “Well, well, well. Just look at that. All ready for a night in? Just you and me, getting up close and personal?”

You’d wondered. He doesn’t always bother to mention it when he’s arranged... a larger event. You still look over at the candles he’s set out and lit, and delicately raise your eyebrows. “All this, for only the two of us?”

He laughs and steps up to the edge of the bed, reaching out to run one hand down your chest and over your stomach. “Definitely, for, for you know. Variety, endurance, making the most of things. Wouldn’t want to waste the night, would we?”

“Of course not.” You don’t look at the candles again, and you try not to react outwardly beyond a faint smile. Variety? You suppose some of the candles are differently colored from the others, but is that _all_ he means?

Then he reaches down between your legs and cups your balls, and you jump. “Good,” he says, and leers. “ _Very_ good. Nice and, and smooth. This should work out just fine, just you wait and see—”

The Grandmaster turns halfway to the candles before he freezes and whips back around.

“ _Right.”_ He claps his hands once and rubs them together, looking you up and down. “Can’t believe— forget my own head next. _Bondage._ Yes? No? Tell me more.”

He didn’t bother to mention it before, though at this point it’s hardly a surprise. You’d honestly rather _not,_ not when the rest of this is new to you, but this is a question with a definite right and wrong answer. So you smile. “Of course. Perhaps a set of handcuffs?”

He makes a disappointed face that you carefully don’t react to. “Nothing else? Well I guess we’ll, we’ll just have to see if you decide you want anything more later, hm?”

The Grandmaster turns to rummage in a drawer and you allow yourself to relax a hair. If you manage this right, you may be able to distract him well enough that he never remembers about _later._

He turns back to you with handcuffs and a bottle you don’t recognize. Once the cuffs are on your wrists, he lifts the bottle and waggles his eyebrows at you. “Think you can handle a, uh, quick little massage?”

You do your best to shake off the feeling that there’s something he’s not telling you and smile up at him. “I’m sure I’ll find some way to endure.”

He laughs, pouring a generous amount of oil over your chest and stomach. He sets the bottle aside, sits on the bed, and begins rubbing the oil into your skin, but without much urgency or apparent purpose. It’s pleasant enough, and you relax and let your eyes drift shut, enjoying the feeling of his hands roaming over your body. Your shoulders strain a little at the position, flat on your back with your arms trapped under your body, but that fades to a pleasant background burn. The Grandmaster lingers over your nipples, rubbing at them until you feel yourself begin to flush. His hands drift to your legs, _between_ your legs, leaving you feeling pleasantly warm all over, and you feel your cock beginning to respond to him.

The Grandmaster hums, sounding pleased. “Nice and shaved, looking real good, I think we can— We should be able to get some good mileage out of this, don’t you think?”

You make a noise of vague agreement, still not entirely certain what he’s talking about, but less concerned than you were before.

You do open your eyes when his hands finally leave you, with one last parting caress to your cock. He reaches for the candles, and you catch yourself nervously licking your lips. You bite your own tongue to stop yourself, but the Grandmaster doesn’t seem to have noticed.

He stands beside the bed, looking up and down the array of candles, absently tapping his chin. He shrugs and reaches for one, saying, “Well as long as, you know, as long as we don’t have any troubles taking old wax off, why don’t we go ahead and take our time?”

The Grandmaster is still looking the candle up and down, so you take a slow, steadying breath and say, “So the oil…?”

He glances sideways at you and grins. “That’s right, sweetheart. And the shaving. Slows things down considerably if you have to stop to pick wax out of, um, hair.” He turns to face you more fully and gives you a speculative look. “Unless you’d _like—”_

“No,” you say, hurriedly. “No, I much prefer the sound of… speed.”

The Grandmaster laughs. “I’m sure you do. Speaking of which—” He lifts the candle in one hand and you freeze, eyes locked on it. But he just looks over at you and grins again. “Hold your horses. Let me just, just test the water, see how we’re doing.”

He shakes the sleeve back on his free hand, turning his wrist upward, and tilts the candle. There’s enough distance that you have time to watch a drop of wax fall through the air before splashing against the Grandmaster’s skin. He smiles, looking pleased with himself.

“Couldn’t ask for much better than that, right?” He turns his eyes to you, and you can’t help a little shiver. “And now I think we’re all, uh, ready to begin. Try to hold still.”

You have time for a weak, “Of course,” and he’s standing above you, the candle in hand, and you’re watching it tip almost in slow motion until the wax spills over and falls down towards your chest.

You jerk in place as the wax hits you. It’s not— Not pain, exactly. There’s a burst of heat, which shouldn’t surprise you, but you weren’t expecting it to feel— Quite this way. It’s not the same sort of heat as taking a blow, but a spot of warmth that blooms quickly and fades more slowly, lingering against your skin. “Oh,” you say, a little stupidly.

“Like that, hm?” You can hear the smug grin in the Grandmaster’s voice, but don’t quite have it in you to be irritated right now. “I knew you’d appreciate this. Always can tell, you know, can tell what kind of things a person will enjoy.”

Your mind has already jumped ahead to what the wax will feel like against the _rest_ of you, but you barely even have the chance to begin wondering before the Grandmaster is there, with you, holding the candle tilted over your body as he moves it in a slow line, down your chest and over your stomach. You can feel the muscles of your stomach twitch as the wax hits you and you fight to hold still. Your eyes flutter closed, but almost immediately, the wax stops.

“Ah, ah—” Your eyes open again and you look to the Grandmaster. He’s still looking pleased with himself, but he wags a stern finger at you. “No looking away, now. I want to see you watching all of this.”

You think you do an admirable job of keeping the strain from your voice when you say, “If you insist—”

He grins broadly again. “I certainly, certainly do insist. Absolute necessity. I want to look at your pretty little face as you watch every moment of this happening.”

You nod, but before you can say a word, he tips the candle and heat blooms across your lower stomach, and you lose what you were planning to say.

The Grandmaster trails wax across your stomach, a few stray drips running down over your rips before they cool. You’re hard, have _been_ hard ever since you adjusted to the heat of the wax on your skin. It’s difficult to find anything to compare it to. It’s a different heat from the feeling of a body against yours, or the burn of an impact against tender flesh. It’s the warmth of a fire, which makes sense, only concentrated in little scattered bursts of heat across your skin.

As closely as you watch the Grandmaster’s hands, every drop of wax that hits you feels unexpected, and it’s a struggle not to jump and twitch away. He seems delighted watching your reactions. You ought to feel embarrassed, you’re sure, at how strongly this is affecting you. Perhaps later. For now you’re basking in the heat, pleasantly tense from trying to stay motionless. Your cock aches for a touch, but without real urgency.

And as he moves the candle up and over your chest again, you catch yourself watching your skin as the wax hits you. There’s slight splash of each impact, the occasional slide of wax as it drips along the planes of your body. You can see the faint reddening of your skin around each cooling droplet, and it’s almost hypnotic to watch.

In the corner of your vision, you can see the Grandmaster lowering his hand closer towards you, less time for you to see the coming wax and brace yourself. You’re twitching in place with each impact now, and you can hear your breathing coming faster and just the slightest bit ragged. Each drop of wax feels like it burns just a little more—perhaps it’s that you’re more sensitive now, your skin already pink and tender where the wax has hit you, or perhaps just that you anticipate the heat each time the wax falls.

That lasts as the Grandmaster drips wax up almost to your collarbone, then down, over one pectoral. You tense slightly as the trail approaches your nipple. You wonder if you ought to say something, but hesitate, unwilling to disrupt the moment.

The Grandmaster makes a decision before you can. A drop splashes against your nipple, and before you can control yourself, you gasp out loud, twisting away up onto your side. You’re still struggling to think past the sensation _,_ but you can feel the Grandmaster take your shoulder in one hand, firmly pulling you down to lie flat on your back again.

He’s frowning, just a little, and you freeze. He says, “Now, um, Loki, pretty sure I— Didn’t I tell you to stay put?”

You nod, wordlessly, and he smiles again.

“Well there you go, then. Try not to forget, not many rules here today—”

Before you have a chance to pull your words together, he’s already tipping the candle again, his hand only a few inches above your chest. You don’t have time to do more than watch, frozen motionless, as wax spills out and across your nipple, and you burst out, _“Wait—”_

You manage to cut yourself off after that one word, but it’s already more than you should have said.

The Grandmaster’s frown is a little more pronounced now as he looks down at you, but the he holds the candle upright, and the burn of the wax on your body is beginning to fade. You try not to let your eyes flicker to the candle and struggle as hard as you can to collect your thoughts. But you can already tell you’re taking too long.

His voice is deceptively mild when he says, “Wait?”

You force something like a smile. “Only a moment. Just to— adjust.”

The frown drops from his face and he grins again, but it does nothing to relax you. “Good, _good,_ I was worried that, you know, you’d— decided you weren’t interested after all. Decided to, ah.” He gestures vaguely with the hand holding the candle, and you tense from head to toe as a drop spills from it, but it lands only on the bedsheets. “Decided to call it quits.”

“Oh no, certainly not,” you manage.

“You’re enjoying yourself?” The Grandmaster’s voice is just the slightest bit sharp, and you collect yourself in a hurry and turn to look at him.

“Very much so.”

He doesn’t answer for a moment and your stomach twists.

But then he turns abruptly from you and sets the candle back on the table with the others, bending to rummage for something in a drawer too low for you to see. You slowly exhale, as quietly as you can manage, trying to force yourself to relax.

You keep a careful eye on the Grandmaster, and when he straightens and turns back to you, you have enough time to arrange your face safely into a faint smile again.

He’s holding a dildo in one hand and a smaller toy in the other. From the look of the little strap on it, you think it’s meant for your cock. You’re close enough to see a surprising number of controls on each of the toys, though you can’t make out their functions. And from the corner of your eye, you can see the Grandmaster’s grin getting wider as he watches you take it all in.

“Figured you could use, ah, could, could use a little something to help you along with that _adjustment.”_

You lick your lips, trying not to let nerves _or_ relief show. “I couldn’t argue with that assessment,” you murmur.

“Of course not,” he says, “I’ve got a, a handle on you, Lo-Lo. I can tell what you think, what you like—” He attaches the smaller toy to your cock without preamble, in the space of a moment, and presses something that starts it vibrating. You suck in a sharp breath, trying not to react too strongly. “See, there we go.”

Before you’ve even caught up to the present, he’s already nudging at your legs, and you struggle to get them bent, get your feet planted against the bed.

The Grandmaster is already reaching for the oil he set aside on the table earlier, but he takes the time to give you an approving, lingering look and say, “There, isn’t that, isn’t that just _perfect.”_

Despite everything, that still sends a rush of warmth all up and down your body. You let your legs fall even further apart as the Grandmaster sits on the bed, reaching to run his fingers along your cock, over and around the toy. He lets them slide down over your balls and circle your hole once before he pulls away. But he’s only gone for a moment, and then his fingers are pressed back against you, and you jump at the feeling of cold oil against your skin.

Conversationally, he says, “Now you don’t, don’t need me to take this slow, do you?”

You start to shake your head, but before you can complete the motion, he’s already pressing two fingers into you, deep and steady. He thrusts them in and out of you twice before spreading his fingers wide, and your mouth falls open as you gasp wordlessly. The toy on your cock isn’t vibrating hard, but it’s enough that you can’t escape the sensation, can’t _forget_ it. When the Grandmaster’s fingers curl forward and brush your prostate, you make a sharp noise and your hips jerk.

You can hear the smile in the Grandmaster’s voice when he says, “Now, now, none of that—”, but you force yourself into stillness and struggle to stay frozen where you are as he adds another finger to your ass.

He doesn’t take much time at all before he decides you’re ready for the toy. The stretch of it is still enough to burn distantly as he pushes it into you, but it’s good, leaving you caught between the stretch and pressure in your ass and the relentless vibration of the toy against your cock. And then the Grandmaster is doing something to the dildo, something you can’t see— And it begins vibrating too. You do your best not to squirm, and you don’t entirely succeed, but the Grandmaster laughs fondly and pats your thigh before he stands upright and steps away from the bed again.

He turns back with another candle.

“Ah,” you say, though it comes out more like a gasp. From the way the Grandmaster smirks, that’s probably the way he takes it.

“So then, you’ve gotten a minute to _adjust,_ mm? We’re all—” He gestures broadly with the candle and wax falls, your eyes locked on it as it lands on the sheets inches from your shoulder. “All ready to go?”

“I believe so—”

The words have barely left your mouth before he’s tilting the candle above your chest, and your voice chokes off with a strangled noise as the wax hits you. You press your lips tight shut and take short, sharp breaths through your nose. Your legs are shaking with the effort it takes not to move, but when you even do as much as twitch, the toy inside you shifts, and makes it that much more difficult to remain still.

But the Grandmaster smiles down at you, slow and pleased as he watches you. “Good, _good,_ that’s. You know, much better. Looking great, pretty thing, you just keep that up.”

You are adjusting, gradually. And relaxing, despite the added distraction of the toys. You’re able to _think,_ at least a little, able look at the candle and at the wax as it strikes your skin. The candles looks identical to the other, but there’s something— It feels as though when the wax lands on you, it’s slower to harden then before, more likely to drip and roll down over your side, leaving a trail of heat. You can’t tell if you’re imagining it, or if you simply weren’t paying enough attention before.

Of course, as you start to consider the question, the Grandmaster notices you getting distracted.

“Ah, ah, none of that—” He tips the candle above your chest, and you don’t even have time to flinch as a generous splash of wax hits your other nipple. It happens so quickly that a shocked, wordless noise slips out of you, and you fight to stay where you are without moving while the burn slowly, _slowly_ begins to fade, and wax drips down over your ribs, leaving hot trails on your skin.

Your head falls back and you shut your eyes, taking deep, desperate breaths, trying your level best to keep them even. But you barely get a moment to center yourself before there’s another burst of heat on your stomach, just above your cock, and you begin to twist away before you can help yourself. You catch yourself before you can go to far, and try to force yourself back where you were, flat on your back again, but barely get anywhere before there’s another splash of wax on your thigh, wax dripping so close to your balls that it makes you shudder.

“Now, none of that, sweetheart—” This time the wax drips against your ribs, then more on your chest, dripping down over one nipple then sliding past the other. “Holding still and watching. Only— You’ve got only two rules to keep track of. Is that a problem?”

You force your eyes open again, and then, somehow, steel yourself enough to roll to your back again. You manage to smile up at the Grandmaster and ignore the way your legs are shaking. “Of course not.”

When you see him frowning it pushes the lingering burn of the wax into distant insignificance. “It seems like there’s _some_ kind of problem. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

It feels like ice in your stomach. You smooth your smile into something more genuine and natural, and let your legs fall further open, forcing them to relax against the sheets until the shaking stills. The toys are still vibrating relentlessly against you, but you do your best to push them into the background.

It only takes a moment for you to center yourself enough that your voice will be steady, but It feels like much longer. “Not telling you? Nothing at all, I’m having a perfectly wonderful time.”

The Grandmaster sits on the bed, against your side. He looks less displeased, but still far from satisfied. “See now, see, that’s what I like to hear.” He toys absently with the lit candle. You do your best not to stare at it. “But I’ve been hearing lots of, lots of other things that send a _different_ message.”

This dance, you know. “Accidental exclamations only,” you say. “In the heat of the moment—”

He waves you off. “Yes, okay, accidental exclamations, got it. But how many accidents are we talking here?” You don’t have a good answer for that. He gestures at you with the candle, and you force yourself to stay still as a drop of wax glances off your side. “You can tell me you want this—and keep doing that, for the record, you know how much I like to hear you’re enjoying yourself—but when I, when I keep hearing ‘no’ and ‘stop’, you can see how it’s going to kill the mood, right?”

You swallow, but keep your face perfectly relaxed. “I understand completely.”

The Grandmaster regards you for a moment longer, then grins, and you let yourself sag with relief. “Good! That’s just— Excellent, _great,_ glad we’ve worked that out, good to know we shouldn’t be having any more of those issues.”

He reaches out to you again, and you freeze for a moment before you process that it isn’t the hand with the candle.

He just brushes his hand along your stomach and laughs. “Calm down there, no need to rush this along. We’re running low on surface area, might want to take care of that before we go much farther.”

Before you can decide whether to ask what he means, he pokes at the wax that’s hardened against you, and you shift, feeling the way it lightly pulls against your skin. The heat of it is gone, and when the Grandmaster reaches under the edge of the wax and pries up a little piece of it, you can relax into the feeling of the wax being stripped from you, pulling slowly away and leaving behind tender, sensitive skin.

He works his nails under a line of wax that reached almost to your cock, peeling it back slow and delicate. When his knuckles bump against the toy still strapped to you, your cock twitches, and a drop of precome drips onto your stomach, just where he finished stripping away that little piece of wax. You brace your heels against the bed, letting your hips rock up against him, but he pulls away.

However, when you look over at him, his smile is satisfied. “You know, usually— I need to help things on their way before we can do this. But it looks like you run cold in more ways that just having freezing feet at night, mm?”

Before you can even begin figuring out how you’re supposed to respond to that, he procures a knife from somewhere in his clothing, and presses the edge against your stomach. You freeze.

“Now, hold still,” he warns. “You can get away with, with breaking the rules other times, but not when I’m doing the tricky work.”

You have a feeling that even if you stopped to ask for an explanation of what he means, you wouldn’t get one. But he doesn’t force you to wait in suspense long. As soon he’s satisfied that you know how to hold still, you suppose, he slides the edge of the blade underneath the nearest sheet of wax.

“ _Aaah—_ ” You manage to hold yourself largely motionless, but the muscles of your stomach jump as the knife slides along your skin. Your cock _aches._ When the Grandmaster slips his fingers under the loosened sheet of wax and peels the rest of it slowly from your skin, your hips leave the bed, pushing up into that touch.

“Ah, ah, none of that,” says the Grandmaster, though he doesn’t sound displeased. “Didn’t I just ttell you not to move?”

Of course, as soon as he sets aside that piece of wax, he reaches down between your legs, cupping your balls as he goes, and you can feel him doing something with the dildo— You jolt as the vibration pulses, not much harder than before, but in a steady, driving rhythm. He does the same to the toy strapped to your cock, a— a similar rhythm, not the same one, so that the patterns synchronize and drift apart, over and over and over, leaving you hardly unable to think

The Grandmaster stays where he is, his hands between your thighs, idly plucking at the few stray trails of wax that ran down between your legs. Your hips twitch helplessly as you try to force them still, and your eyes struggle to focus, but you can see the Grandmaster smiling down at you, looking unbearably pleased with himself. As soon as you begin to feel you’re regaining some control of yourself, he shifts, and sets the edge of the knife against your stomach again.

You hold onto at least a few bare shreds of your self-control as he works his way up your torso, the knife never cutting you, but with the wax he removes leaving you feeling flayed open and raw. When he rests the knife just beneath one of your nipples, you do your best to remain motionless, but shiver head to toe as he slowly, _slowly,_ works his knife under the wax and begins to pry it away from your skin. You manage to keep your eyes open, but you stare at his fingers, unable to focus, as he takes the sheet of wax in one hand and pulls it away in a fast, smooth gesture.

You moan out loud, arching off the bed for a moment, the cuffs digging into your wrists as you pull helplessly at them. The Grandmaster laughs as he pushes your hips back down against the bed. You can feel the hilt of the knife digging into your skin, and the vibration of the toys against you and _in_ you, and you gasp for air, trying to remember how to focus.

“That is— _exactly_ what I want to hear from a pretty thing like you,” the Grandmaster says. “But I’m going to need you to keep being good for me, so that we can finish this next little bit and get, you know, back to the good part.”

You’re barely hearing his words, but he pushes insistently down on your hips until you settle. You watch as he sets the knife against your chest again, on the other side. You watch, only half-aware of what you’re even seeing, but you slowly, slowly realize that here, there are no _sheets_ of wax, nothing for a simple, fast removal, just an array of little scattered spatters and drops.

The Grandmaster removes the first with a quick flick of his wrist, fast enough that you don’t have the chance to react until he’s already done. You can feel the raw tenderness of the spot, hardly anything to compare with the _rest_ of you, but bright and hot for how fresh it is. He removes a second spot of wax in the same way, then a third.

By then, you’re struggling to remain motionless, eyes locked on the knife as he works. You force yourself to remain still through sheer willpower, your shoulders aching with tension as you fight not to move. You can feel the edge of the blade against your skin every time he moves to a new piece of wax, the pressure just barely shy of breaking skin.

You’re shaking with the effort of it as he moves from drop to drop, each individual drip of wax its own separate struggle. You have your eyes tight shut, even though he told you he wanted you to watch, but it’s just too much right now, and you can’t stand the thought of being able to _see_ how much is left still to go.

And when you’re lying there, wound tight, trying not to shiver, waiting for the bite of the knife— You feel the Grandmaster— _flick_ you. On the _nose._

Your eyes fly open, and you manage, _somehow_ , to bite back any number of things you might have said.

“All done,” he says, obnoxiously cheerful. “Break time’s over, back to business.”

You blink once, stupidly, trying to catch up. He’s still sitting right against your side, but he turns away to regard the candles again, tapping his chin. He says, “You know, you know I think we’re not going to get— _quite_ as far as I wanted today.”

You try not to relax too obviously. The Grandmaster doesn’t seem to be waiting on you for an answer, fortunately, and keeps talking.

“No colors, two rounds— hardly _any_ variety.” He glances your way and smirks. “And just look at how responsive you are. Sensitive. _Knew_ this would be right up your alley. Always can tell, you know.”

He sighs and goes back to looking over the candles. “Oh well. Life’s never, never _quite_ perfect.” Finally, he selects a new candle and turns back to you, holding it above your stomach. “And here we _go.”_

You only have a moment to glance down at your skin, still red and blotchy where he peeled the old wax away, _feeling_ flayed and raw— And then the new wax hits you.

There’s almost no time for you to respond, not before even more wax drips across your abdomen, spilling down over your sides and hips. Your head snaps back and your eyes slam shut. You don’t make a noise, you _can’t_ make a noise, you can’t even manage that much. But the Grandmaster makes a displeased noise of warning, and somehow you find it in you to drag your head back up and look at his work.

Objectively, you know, you can _see_ that the wax isn’t eating through your flesh and down to your bones. You can _see_ that it isn’t doing that. But the sensation is beyond bearing. Just on the flat of your stomach, with the wax puddling and spilling down your sides, that’s tortuous enough, and it’s all you can do to breathe. But from the corner of your eye you can see the Grandmaster’s smile getting wider, and that’s all the warning you get before his hand drifts lower.

You can feel your hands starting to shake as the line of wax approaches your cock. His hand is low over your body, almost close enough to touch you himself, but he ignores your cock entirely and seems to be entirely focused on letting the wax pool at the base of your stomach and run down your sides. A drop of hot wax narrowly misses the head of your cock, and you’re in _agony,_ but you’ve never been so desperate to be touched. You’re biting your lip so hard you’re afraid you’ll draw blood. The Grandmaster’s eyes are on your face, but you can’t breathe, can’t _think_ well enough to read what he’s feeling—

A drop of wax rolls down between your legs and over your balls, and you bite down so hard you taste copper. Before you can stop yourself you flinch away from his hands, curling in on yourself and gasping, _“Don’t—”_

You realize your mistake and freeze before you can go any further, but the damage has already been done. The silence is unbearable. For a long moment, there’s only the distant buzzing of the toys, still vibrating, and then there’s a quiet noise you can’t identify, but nothing else. You take one slow, steadying breath, and roll back over to face the Grandmaster.

The sound must have been him setting the candle aside, because his arms are crossed, and his expression as he watches you is the most openly displeased that you’ve seen him in— a while. He still hasn’t said a word.

You manage a queasy smile and force out, “My apologies. I didn’t—” That’s as far as you get before your words give out.

“Didn’t mean it?”

You throat is still locked tight shut, and all you can do is nod.

He frowns at you a moment longer, and then leans back, sighing, his fingers drumming absently on his arm. “See now, Loki, Lo-Lo, what am I supposed to think now, when, when one moment you’re all ‘yes, I want this’, but then, next time I turn around, you’re all ‘stop, no, wait, don’t do this’? What am I supposed to take away from this situation? Should I assume you’ve been lying to me?”

Fear feels like a rush of ice in your veins, clearing your head, and you try to struggle upright. “No—!”

He waves you off, looking annoyed. “Of, of _course_ not, obviously not. You tell me you want something, and I place my trust— Place my trust in _you_ to be honest with me. You say you want this, I believe you.”

You do your best to smile—you still don’t trust your voice—hoping that’s an end of it, but he doesn’t look satisfied yet.

“But see, see, there you are, one minute ‘ooh, I want this,’ and the next minute, ‘ooh, I don’t want this.’ Is that fair? Is that fair to me?”

The correct answer is obvious. “No,” you murmur.

“See?” He snaps his fingers and points at you. and you manage not to flinch. “There you go. There we go. Not fair. Not fair at all.

You lick your lips, taking a deep steadying breath. “I think you may assume— For the duration of the scene, if I protest, it’s only the— intensity of the situation affecting me. Not a sincere desire to stop.”

The Grandmaster still looks less than happy, and you aren’t sure what he wants. You stay where you are, doing your best to keep your breathing slow and even. The toy in your ass and the toy on your cock are still vibrating and _pulsing,_ and you can’t tell if he remembers, but you doubt this is the time to mention them.

Finally he asks, “You think I enjoy that? You think I like hearing ‘no’ when I’ve been clear that I want to hear ‘yes’?”

You open your mouth to answer, but find yourself at a loss for words. You don’t know what to give him except a promise you’ve already proven unable to keep.

He sits there for a moment, watching you. Then he snaps upright, grinning, and you stop yourself from flinching away. “So— Sweetheart, pretty thing. So what you’re saying here, if you tell me to stop again, you’re saying that you won’t really mean that?”

Carefully, you say, “I believe you can assume so.”

The Grandmaster is still smiling, so you must have said something right. “So then, I’ve—this is a great solution, you’re going to love it—I’ve got the perfect answer.” He bends forward to reach into that out of sight drawer again, and when he straightens, he’s holding a gag. “If you’re going to tell me to stop when you don’t want me to actually stop… We’ll just make it so you _can’t_ tell me to stop in the first place.”

You manage a smile, even if it feels a little weak. “Ingenious.” Then you twist and peer at what he’s holding, taking a closer look. “Is that—?”

“It sure is,” he says and winks. He’s holding the gag by an attached rubber cock. He waves it vaguely around, letting the straps of the gag flop back and forth. “Since we, you know, since it’s just you and me, nobody else along for the party, only so much we can do by ourselves. But I’d _never_ want you to feel deprived, you know that.”

You ignore the way he waggles his eyebrows at you and instead focus on trying to look grateful. “I appreciate the consideration, of course—”

“Of course you do.” He waves you off. “Any, any last words?

You shake your head once, and then he’s there, pressing the rubber cock between your teeth and into your mouth. It’s long, long enough that it hits the back of your throat and you have to focus on not gagging as you lift your head so the Grandmaster can fasten the straps.

When that’s settled, you get half a moment to adjust before he’s reaching out for the candles against and turning back to you. The pleased look on his face sends a shiver down your spine, and you have to hope that your eyes won’t betray enough of what you’re thinking to irritate him again.

The Grandmaster pauses to slowly, deliberately look you up and down. “Well, well, _well._ Isn’t that just the prettiest picture.” He reaches for you with his free hand, running his fingers from the base of your neck down over your chest and stomach, letting them skate over stray drops of wax. He stops just sky of your cock and runs his hand back up your body, then detours to pinch one of your nipples, and pulls away.

“Right,” he says. “Right! That’s enough of that, think it’s, ah, time I joined the party properly.” He stands and starts to turn away, but doesn’t even make it half a step before he turns back to you. He laughs. “Just look at me, can’t keep a thing straight today, here’s a little something to tide you over—”

He tips the candle over you, and leaves a stinging, uneven line of wax down the center of your chest. You aren’t expecting it and jerk in place, forgetting yourself enough that you gag once before you force your throat to relax again. The Grandmaster laughs fondly as he turns away, setting the candle on the table and stripping out of his clothing. You take sharp, quick breaths through your nose as he tosses the clothing to the side, picking up the candle again, and returning to the bedside. He takes the time to look you over again, one hand on his own cock, looking intensely pleased with himself.

“Like I said, _always_ know what kind of fun someone’ll like best. Aren’t you glad we did this? Don’t, don’t bother answering, you can tell me how much fun you had later.”

Without further preamble, he reaches down between your legs and pulls the dildo out of you. It drags over your prostate, and it’s not enough for you to come, but the lack of it after so long with it vibrating inside you— it’s almost painful. You take a sharp breath through your nose, and when he glances up at you, you try to arrange your expression into something agreeable. You don’t suppose it quite works, because he grins and laughs and paths your ass with irritating familiarity.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he says. He nudges your cock with the base of the lit candle, and no wax spills over its edge, but you can feel your heart in your throat. “I’ll leave— I’ll leave this toy right where it is, don’t want you to feel deprived—”

The Grandmaster pushes three fingers into you, spreading them enough that you attempt to gasp from the stretch. He hums, sounding pleased, and he must be satisfied, because he settles himself on the bed, kneeling between your legs, lifts your hips with one hand, and then all you can feel is his cock sliding into you and spreading you wide open. The toy wasn’t small, not by any means, but it’s still nothing compared to this.

This is nothing you can’t take, and in the normal course of events, this would be precisely the thing you _enjoy_ taking. As it is, he thrusts in and out a few times, hoists your hips and adjusts how you’re settled against him. And then he remembers the candle.

You see the first splash of wax coming, and it does nothing to help. It comes from only a few inches above your stomach, barely enough time to brace yourself, but you don’t think that would have helped. The wax strikes skin still red and raw from before, and you scream, _try_ to scream, but all you can do is make a muffled whining noise around the gag.

The Grandmaster grins and tips the candle again, leaving a trail of wax up along your stomach and towards your ribs, burning lines of heat dripping down over your sides. He says, “Right? _Much_ better the second time around. First round is fun, but it, it really doesn’t compare, not at all—”

He might say more, but you lose it. All you can hear is the rushing of blood in your ears, and your head drops back against the sheets. All you can do is stare at the ceiling, desperately trying to take deep breaths through your nose as the wax slowly, _slowly_ cools against your skin.

As the heat gradually begins to fade, you can hear the Grandmaster chuckling indulgently. He begins to move against you, setting a driving pace, fucking in and out of your ass. Another time, you might be concerned with the distantly burning drag of his cock against you, or you might be trying to find a delicate way to suggest he use more lubricant, but right now? It barely even registers.

He doesn’t slow down, but you can feel him grasping one-handed at the toy on your cock. You think for a moment that he plans to remove it, that he plans to draw this out even longer. You wonder wildly if you can find some way to beg him to leave it there, whatever it takes to bring this to an _end—_ But that was foolish. Of course he wasn’t trying to remove it. He was trying to turn it higher.

You arch and thrash, the vibration driving almost everything else out of your head, making it difficult to even _think_. Thank the Norns for small mercies, at least now he doesn’t force you to watch or force you to hold yourself still. You can hear him chuckle as you stare blindly at the ceiling, and you can feel him set one hand on your hip, an iron, immovable grip, and no matter how you struggle, he holds you precisely where he wants as he moves against you.

Though of course, then the wax hits you again, and the world is heat and burning, and you don’t have space to care about the vibration of the toy or the cock inside you. All you can do is fight for air and moan desperately around the gag and struggle againstthe Grandmaster’s hand as he pins you to the bed.

Distantly, you can hear him talking, compliments, questions that he can’t expect you to answer, words you can’t make out. You can hear the humiliating, helpless noises that you’re making too, that the-- that the Grandmaster is _commenting_ on as he goes.

You’re struggling to pull yourself together, at least to bring _something_ of yourself under your own control again. You lose all progress every time another spill of wax hits you, leaving you reeling and fighting for air, unable to focus or _think._ Your wrists are raw from pulling at the cuffs, but you don’t know how to stop. You can hear laughter, but you don’t know what he’s laughing at. The burn of the wax is trailing dangerously close to your cock, and you’re caught, paralyzed somewhere between fear and desperate need.

You can feel the Grandmaster hoist your legs and bend forward over you, but you don’t know— It feels like half your chest bursts into flame. You try to thrash, but you’re bent double with even less room to move than before, the Grandmaster driving in and out of your ass so hard that you can hardly breathe. You can feel the Grandmaster wrap his free hand around your cock, and the candle is still leaving stray drops of fire along your collarbone, and it’s, it’s just too _much._

You come, you think. You’re shaking uncontrollably, and you, you think you can feel the Grandmaster’s hand on your cock still, stroking you through it. Blood is roaring in your ears and you can’t breathe, you’re lightheaded from lack of air, you can’t _move,_ can’t even tell if your eyes are open or what you’re seeing.

It fades, gradually, the sensation receding just enough for you to tell that it’s _too much._ You can still feel the Grandmaster moving inside you, but now the burning on your chest has receded to a dull ache and you’re breathing again, ragged and unsteady, but _breathing._ The toy on your cock is still vibrating, so much that it’s more pain than anything else, but you can’t, can’t speak to ask the Grandmaster to turn it off. You can hear the noises he’s making as he thrusts against you, still with your legs hooked over his hips, keeping you bent in two.

Your eyes focus slowly, but when you manage to look down at the Grandmaster, he’s already looking back at you. His grin gets wider as he sees you watching him. He looks meaningfully off to the side, and--- Your eyes snap to the candle he still holds in one hand. You’re frozen, unable to look away. The candle is close enough that you can feel its heat on your leg, the heat edging close to pain every time the Grandmaster drives into you. You make an inarticulate, pleading noise.

He laughs. “What was that? Hang on, let me wrap this up—”

He tips the candle, and you don’t have any way to say _no,_ and you don’t even have time to brace yourself before the hot wax splashes across your nipple and you arch back, gasping at the burn.

The Grandmaster grunts and his pace stutters as he comes, and he drives deep into you one last time before stilling, slumped over you. You can feel a distant ache in your ass, but it’s nothing compared to the rest of you. Numbly, you look at the pink, blotchy skin of your torso, still covered in dried puddles and drops of wax. That will all have to be removed, you think, but you can’t even stomach the thought of doing it right now.

After a moment, the Grandmaster pulls out of you with a heavy, contented sigh. He blows out the candle and tosses it aside, then finally, _finally_ turns off the toy still vibrating against your cock. But then he just… rolls off you to lie flat on the bed, his hands behind his head. He shuts his eyes and sighs again, looking for all the world like he’s about to take a nap.

You know better than to _argue_ with him, but surely— You make a wordless noise of protest, and when he looks over at you, you roll your eyes meaningfully at the rest of your body. If you have to clean up in your own quarters, so be it, but you’d prefer not to navigate the halls like _this._

But he just lies back again, laughing, and says, “Don’t you worry, we’re not done yet. Figured you could use a quick break, rest and, and, you know. Relaxation.” He glances at you again. “Unless you’d prefer chemical assistance—?”

You shake your head, _hard,_ at the point where you can’t even bring yourself to care anymore if the desperation in it shows through.

All he does is laugh again, and you ought to feel humiliated, but it’s difficult to feel anything beyond the sheer exhaustion He reaches down to fondly pat your cock, and you make a high, thin noise and only barely manage not to flinch away.

He makes a broad gesture towards you and says, “Figure— Figure you’ll be fine for a nap with all this on. And then we don’t have to worry about, you know, getting you all dolled up again when we get back to business. Right?”

You don’t have any way to answer that. All you can do is watch him, helpless and wordless as his eyes drift shut and he relaxes there, right where he is. As far as you can tell, he’s asleep. And— What else are you supposed to do? You try to settle down, try to find some way to get comfortable that relieves the strain on your shoulders. You aren’t _relaxed_ , not by any stretch of the imagination, but you think you may be exhausted enough to get a little sleep.

You’re just starting to drift, starting to think that you may be able to get a bit of rest, when out of nowhere, you feel a casual pinch on your ass, and you jumped, jolted back awake.

“Don’t you worry,” the Grandmaster says, “I’ll be taking good care of you.”


End file.
